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"My mother at home?" Gisselle asked him.

"No, mademoiselle," he replied. She threw a conspiratorial glance at Martin and Beau and then we followed her up the stairway to her room.

"What are we doing?" I asked when she cast off her beret and opened the windows as wide as they would go. Beau flopped on her bed and Martin sat at the vanity table smiling stupidly at me.

"Close the door," she ordered. I did so slowly. Then she nodded at Martin who dug into his pocket and produced what to me looked like the cigarettes Grandpere Jack often rolled for himself.

"Cigarettes?" I said, a bit surprised and even a bit relieved. I knew some kids in the bayou who had started smoking when they were ten or eleven. Some parents didn't even mind, but most did. I never liked the taste nor the feeling that my mouth was turning into an ashtray. I also hated the way some of my school friends' clothing reeked of the smoke.

"Those aren't cigarettes. They're joints," Gisselle said.

"Joints?"

Martin's smile widened. Beau sat up, his eyebrows raised, a look of curiosity about me on his face. I shook my head.

"You never heard of pot, marijuana?" Gisselle asked.

I made a small 0 with my lips. I had never actually seen it this close up, but I did know of it. There were some small shack bars in the bayou in which such things were supposedly taking place, but Grandmere Catherine had warned me about ever going near them. And some of the kids at school talked about it, with some supposedly smoking it. But no one I had been friendly with did.

"Of course, I've heard of it," I said.

"But you never tried it?" she asked with a smile. I shook my head.

"Should we believe her this time, Beau?" she asked. He shrugged.

"It's the truth," I insisted.

"So this will be your first time," Gisselle said. "Martin." He got up and passed one of the cigarettes to each of us. I hesitated to take mine.

"Go on; it won't bite you," he said, laughing. "You'll love it."

"If you want to hang out with us and the rest of my friends, you can't be a drip," Gisselle said.

I looked at Beau.

"You should try it at least once," he said.

Reluctantly, I took it. Martin lit everyone's and I took a quick puff on mine, blowing the smoke out the moment I felt it touch my tongue.

"No, no, no," Gisselle said. "You don't smoke it like a cigarette. Are you pretending or are you really this dumb?"

"I'm not dumb," I said indignantly. I looked at Beau who had lain back on the bed and inhaled his marijuana cigarette with obvious experience.

"It's not bad," he announced.

"You inhale the smoke and hold it in your mouth for a while," Gisselle instructed. "Go on, do it," she commanded, standing over me with those stone eyes riveted. Reluctantly, I obeyed.

"That's it," Martin said. He was squatting on the floor and puffing on his.

Gisselle put on some music. Everyone's eyes were on me so I continued to puff and inhale, hold the smoke and exhale. I wasn't sure what was supposed to happen, but soon I had a very light-headed feeling. It was as if I could close my eyes and float to the ceiling. I must have had a very funny expression on my face, for the three of them started to laugh again, only this time, without even knowing why, I laughed, too. That made them laugh harder which made me laugh harder. In fact, I was laughing so hard, my stomach started to ache, and no matter how it ached, I couldn't stop laughing. Every time I paused, I looked at one or the other of them and started in again.

Suddenly, my laughing turned to crying. I don't know why it did; it just did. I felt the tears and the expression on my face change. Before I realized it, I was sitting there on the floor, my legs crossed under each other, bawling like a baby.

"Uh-oh, Beau said. He got up quickly and ripped the marijuana cigarette from my fingers. Then he dropped mine and what was left of his own down Gisselle's toilet.

"Hey, that's good stuff," Martin called. "And expensive, too," he added.

"You better do something, Gisselle," Beau said when he saw my crying hadn't ended, but in fa